Order 66 A Clone's tale
by Funkmaster21
Summary: Told through the eyes of an ARC trooper, when order 66 is given he acts instinctivley but encounters strange consequences for his actions.


A-66 Stared into the dark, inky gloom of the jungle ahead, his trained eyes were unwavering as he scanned the treeline for any sign of enemy contact.

Satisfied they were alone, he turned and nodded his confirmation to his equally unnerved comrade.

Without saying a word, the clone nodded back and waved the others behind forward. The squad crept to the two Clone scouts. Among them was Jedi Master Nimba.

"What's the situation, Styx?" Nimba whispered quietly, taking his lightsaber from his traditional Jedi robe. Most Jedi shunned their robe in battle, in favor of more lightweight, comfortable fighting clothes, though Nimba saw no reason to abandon what he considered was an important part of his Jedi way.

"All quiet, General" A-66 replied, his eyes never leaving the treeline. Secretly he lamented his new name given to him by his General, but grudgingly accepted it. He'd heard many of the other clone commanders have been given new designations by other Jedi, Nimba had told him he was simply shortening it to something easier. It came from his name sixtysix. Which Nimba hated saying.

"Still?" Nimba mused, rubbing his now stubbiling chin. It reminded him of how long he had spent here on the Forest Moon of Endor. He also hoped it hadn't taxed too much of his appearance. He was a man roughly in his late twenties. Tall and handsome, he kept his hair short, again this was unusual unusual for a Jedi Knight, who tended to grow their hair long to separate them from the padawans, who wore short hair to separate them from their Masters. Nimba estimated that he and his clone troopers had spent roughly 40 days on the planet, destroying pockets of Separatist forces they come across. The moon still hadn't been claimed on either side, but neither had anyone committed a full force yet. Supposedly the main forces were in the Inner rim sectors, securing trade routes.

Still, the moon was valuable and both sides needed it. Nimba had originally landed on the planet with a company of two hundred soldiers, now down to roughly fifty, and with no reinforcements in sight, the campaign looked grim for the Jedi.

"Recommendations?" Nimba asked his commander hopefully. Styx (as he liked to call him) was an ARC Trooper, the elite trained troopers, genetically modified to think outside the box, unlike their soldier brothers. Nimba only thought it best to give him a short name. Because of their genetic differences, ARC Troopers always gained a certain sense of individuality about them, a trait which Nimba was thankful for.

Styx took a moment to ponder the situation. "We're in a good position, General. Rations are low, but we can hold out. If you sense a droid detachment through those trees, it may be best to attack, and get it over with." Styx answered in the dry voice that Nimba had become all too familiar with over the last 40 days. Probably because it was the only one he had heard.

"Personally, Sir I wouldn't mind dismantling a few more gear-heads." He added and Nimba grinned at the image. He patted him on the soldier. "I'd have thought you'd have had enough by now, Styx. No rest for born fighters eh?" Before he could reply, Nimba dropped back with the rest of the soldiers.

Checking each other's equipment, the men were readying themselves up for what seemed to be the coming battle. Nimba chuckled at himself for seeming so predictable to the troops he'd grown to know. (Though there wasn't much personality among the ranks). The Jedi knight always felt a pang of guilt every time he had to send his warriors with him. By all accounts they have been born and raised to die on the battlefield. It was what they were there for, but Nimba being a student of the Force couldn't ignore life, and certainly couldn't give it away.

Due to their genetics, Clone Troopers were battle-ready by their tenth birthday. Enhanced growth genes halved their lifespan, so as to send them on the battlefield quicker for their Generals. The idea sickened Nimba, as he walked through the ranks, in the darkness he noticed a trooper clutching his arm.

"What's the problem, trooper?" He asked the soldier, dropping to one knee to inspect the wound. "Just a flesh wound, sir" The trooper grimaced as his General held his arm to inspect the injury. "Took a hit in the battle earlier this morning…" He said, borrowing Styx's voice. "Didn't want to let down the unit" Nimba nodded and closed his eyes, hovering his hand above the blaster wound. He used his strength, the force to heal the wound. The trooper clenched and unclenched his fist and was relived when he could no longer feel the pain, though he couldn't see the wound through his white armour "Thank you, General" The trooper offered. Nimba couldn't see his face through his helmet, but it seemed that the trooper smiled grudgingly.

Keeping his voice low, he addressed his men, who dropped to a knee as he gathered them.

"Listen up" He whispered as loud as he dared. "I sense a large group of battle-droids just over the ridge." He pointed in the direction Styx and the scout were facing. "They seem to be guarding a shelter, possibly food. There may be even a way to contact the council to send reinforcements." The troopers made no motion, their loyalty was to their Officers, whether the troopers themselves died or not, it hardly mattered to them.

"I say we attack hard, fast and straight up the middle. Styx?" He asked his commander, who had always been a welcome source of advice.

Styx who had overheard, stepped down.

"Sounds good, General. If we can gather enough speed without being visible, we may be able to get the advantage before they know we're there."

Nimba nodded and clapped his officer on the shoulder again. "Thank you, my friend." He addressed his troops again "I will run straight through the trees with the first wave." He pointed at a group of five nearest soldiers, who stood up, welcoming a chance to fight the droids.

"Second wave, you" He waved to another group.

"Styx and several others will be covering us from this point." He motioned towards the mound. "Then join us when the fighting starts. Questions?" He didn't expect any questions, and didn't receive any.

"Okay. Good luck, and May the Force be with us"

The troopers armed themselves and stood close to the Jedi as he began his attack.

Styx readied his sniper blast rifle, and steadied it on the mound overlooking the ridge. He'd done the same battle before, many times with Nimba, but this seemed different. Still, his breathing was steady, his nerves were calm, he behaved as he was trained to be, and he knew his brothers were doing the same.

The clone next to him, N-23 was calm, also equipping his rifle, ready to cover the first wave.

He noticed Nimba just below him, lightsaber in hand, organizing his troops, he saw Styx and winked. Styx didn't wink back, not because he didn't want to, but because he was wearing his ARC helmet. Still he shrugged at Nimba, who laughed and ignited his lightsaber, which glowed a bright blue in the night.

Styx looked back into the treeline, watching again for the enemy.

Suddenly, his personal communicator blinked. Funny, he thought to himself. He didn't think it would get a signal here, let alone work through all the war he'd been through. It blinked again and he tapped his forearm to view the hologram. It was a message to all clone commanders simultaneously. With surprise he saw it was the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, though he didn't seem himself. He was cloaked and his face was hidden.

"Commander, Activate Order 66"

Styx was stunned for a moment, and he wasn't sure he heard the command correctly. Order 66 labeled all Jedi as enemy of the republic and to be shot on sight.

With a cracked voice he replied, "It will be done, My Lord" As he knew hundreds of other commanders were doing the same across the galaxy. The image seemed to sneer and then vanished from view.

His choices remained thin for him. He been trained… raised to believe in the republic, to be fanatically loyal to the senate above all else. The code of the clones had never changed. Protect the General, Protect the Unit. Protect yourself. All the clones honored that code more than any other, save for the orders of the Supreme Chancellor.

He saw Nimba begin his charge, his battle worn Jedi robe flailing in the wind. With a firm realization, Styx knew what had to be done.

He looked to the trooper on his left, who nodded, and attempted to line up the Jedi in his sights. Styx put a hand firmly on the troopers arm, stopping his shot. When the trooper looked up, Styx merely said "It's my job."

Styx looked into the scope of his rifle, and lined up Nimba who was running softly through the trees. The shot was easy and he could take it. For a moment he hesitated. He noticed the rest of the troopers had stopped running beside their general, even held their blasters to him. Confused, Nimba turned around at his troopers, those who had been loyal to him since the beginning. In confusion, Nimbas eyes met Styx's, though he was too far away to hear him, he knew Nimba was asking his unit why they had stopped.

Styx looked away as he pulled the trigger, not bearing to see the shot land. Not bearing to see the Jedi, his friend fall. Still looking away, he heard the blast shots of his clone brothers; again and again they fired into the corpse of what had been their leader. Finally, Styx looked up at the scene and saw the body of the young Jedi. He was sprawled on the floor, his saber deactivated, his body in tatters, but his dead eyes looked still into Styx, judging him still in death. The man who had befriended him, valued him and named him. Just a clone.

He looked away again in grief, and the unit regrouped. The scout next to him asked

"What are your orders, A-66?" The clone commander suddenly remembered his designation, and was surprised to be called it. It was that moment that he realized he didn't hate the name Nimba had given. It'd become a part of him, made him an individual. And now it was gone forever He mouthed his designation silently, remembering himself as a number. The tears trickled from his scarred, battle hardened face. The face that was literally shared by all the clones of himself around him. And for once he was glad his face was masked.

He was a clone once more.


End file.
